


A Rattle and A Roar

by weeesi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sherlock Holmes canon illustrations, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Who knew the illustration captioner was a johnlocker at heart, poem, poetry remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeesi/pseuds/weeesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the figure of a man.<br/>‘Any news?’ he asked.<br/>We found ourselves in the inner room.<br/>It was quite a simple case after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rattle and A Roar

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am the biggest nerd that ever nerded, I spent some time on the British Library’s flickr page looking through captions to the Sherlock Holmes illustrations. Their order started to make a narrative of sorts.
> 
> I made a sad gay poem out of them.
> 
> (putting this on ao3 so it doesn't get lost in my tumblr ether)

It was the figure of a man.  
‘Any news?’ he asked.  
We found ourselves in the inner room.  
It was quite a simple case after all.

Two of his knuckles were burnt and bleeding.

He held it up.  
‘Nothing could be better,“ said Holmes.

'I’ve heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes.’  
'I won’t waste your time,’ said he.  
What do you make of that?

Holmes was extremely pleased.  
I held up a warning finger.  
Helped him to a chair.  
Bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes.

'Come in,’ said he, blandly.  
The view was sordid enough.

He broke the seal and glanced over the contents.  
The pipe was still between his lips.  
'Have mercy!’ he shrieked.

'Holmes,’ I cried, 'you are too late.’  
Taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs.  
For a long time he remained there.  
A curious collection.

I found Sherlock Holmes half asleep.

'Good-bye, and be brave.’  
He burst into convulsive sobbing.  
'Well, look at this.’  
'Tell me everything,’ said I.  
I stared at him in astonishment.

It passed with a rattle and a roar.

A picture of offended dignity.  
He looked about him anxiously.  
'Oh! I am so frightened!’ I panted.  
'Good heavens! What is the matter?’

We had the carriage to ourselves.  
Holmes pulled out his watch.  
What a lovely thing a rose is.

The key of the riddle was in my hands.  
I held him in my arms.

'You are the very man.’

He congratulated me warmly.  
'I am so delighted that you have come.’  
The door was instantly opened.  
A house on fire!  
I took the precious case.  
I saw Holmes gazing down at the rush of the waters.

I rushed to the door.  
'Holmes!’ I whispered.  
At my cry he dropped it.  
'Get away from here before it is too late.’

He drew up the windows.  
'Be off!’

Then he stood before the fire.  
Staring into the fire.

The point is a simple one.

We got off, paid our fare.  
The league has a vacancy.  
He tore the mask from his face.

He laid his hand upon the glossy neck.  
'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau.’  
In his hand he held a pistol.  
The door was shut and locked.  
A man appeared out of the darkness.  
Silver blaze.  
He made neither sound nor motion.

The death of Sherlock Holmes.

Is there any other point which I can make clear?

He took out a very large bath sponge.  
There was no one there.


End file.
